Parental Conversation
by Shoequeeny
Summary: Talking is hard. A Sense Memory ficlet (I recommend you read that first)


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Disclaimer: You'd think I put Spike of 'I have a chip, no wait, now I have a soul and I love you Buffy!' on Angel. Hell no. So you can pretty much figure I don't own them.

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Spoilers: I live in the UK so there aren't any spoilers for the new series but anything before that I may have dropped in.

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Author's Notes: This is a ficlet in the Sense Memory story, set after the original. It's not exactly complicated so a lot of other character subplots are still open. But who knows, next time I'm avoiding reading English Lit set texts (Hamlet this time around) you might get another one. That is, if anyone cares anymore.

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Summary: Talking is hard.

It was surprising how uncomfortable expensive Italian leather chairs could be. Although, Connor surmised, it could be because of how uncomfortable the atmosphere in the room was. He shifted awkwardly in his seat, thankful that the leather was soft enough to not squeak. 

Connor glanced around the spacious office in a desperate effort to find something to attach conversation too. The ceiling to floor windows caught his gaze.

"So, um," he began, clearing his throat as he gestured at the windows, "how come you don't, you know, burst into flames?"

*

"You asked him how he didn't burst into flames?" Dawn's incredulous voice rose to a yell on the final three words as she brandished a book at her wincing boyfriend.

"Erm, yeah." Connor replied sheepishly whilst taking the book gently from Dawn's flailing arms and placing it on the shelf. "And could you keep it down? We're in a library." 

Dawn turned angry eyes on him with the final statement. "Surprised you remember what one looks like." she said snippily, "Ever going to finish that degree?"

Connor ran a hand over his eyes as he recognised the beginning of the familiar argument. "Hey, could we concentrate on my inability to have a conversation with my un-dead father rather than my inability to return to this establishment of higher learning?"

"Fine," Dawn said wearily, "but after that we're going to discuss your inability to tell Siegfried and Roy apart." she finished, a mischievous grin appearing on her face that Connor couldn't help but start to return.

"Okay. But first, my father."

"Angel?" Dawn asked. Connor gave her an exasperated look. "Right, sorry. Well it's not just you, he can start conversations too you know." Connor just looked at her, seeing this Dawn conceded. "Admittedly he's not that great at it but he can."

"What? So I should just wait for him to start talking? Because I pretty much think I've been doing that."

Dawn chewed on her lower lip in thought. "Well, maybe you could take a book with you or something and Angel would probably talk to you about that." Dawn's face lit up at the idea while Connor just looked dubious.

"I don't know. Won't that seem a little, you know, forced?"

Dawn shook her head emphatically. "Only if **you** bring it up. If **he** does? Completely natural." Looking remarkable pleased with herself Dawn span around and shoved a copy of Tolstoy's Anna Karenina into Connor's arms. "Trust me, it will work."

*

The leather didn't make a sound as Connor shifted awkwardly, trying to find a position that was less uncomfortable. The heavy book lay in his arms, his fingers unconsciously tracing the outline of the embossed title.

"Good book?" Angel's voice reverberated across the tensely silent room.

"Yeah." said Connor, nodding his head.

"Yeah." echoed Angel. And the silence recommenced.

*

"Yeah? That's it? Yeah?"

"You know if all you're going to do is repeat the things I tell you I'm going to stop telling you anything." Connor replied irritated, as he shifted his arm that was cradling Dawn on top of her bed.

She sat up hurriedly, giving Connor the opportunity to move his arm from underneath her. Running a hand through tousled hair, she turned bright blue eyes on him, leaning a hand on his bare chest.

"You have to **talk** to him, Connor." Dawn said imploringly, catching herself on his name. He noticed and shifted from underneath her to sit on the edge of the bed perching his elbows on his knees.

"I don't know how to." He let out a mirthless laugh. "**We** don't know how to."

Dawn's voice sounded small. "We?" She already knew the answer but some part of her that felt like suffering couldn't help but ask. Connor's own tousled head turned to her, blue eyes meeting blue.

"Jake's dad is nothing like Angel," he explained, though he knew he wasn't really answering her question. She needed to know the full extent of their joining, whether or not they were still as closely connected as before or whether one of his 'personalities' had finally dominated. And that he couldn't answer her. "And Connor. Well, there was Holtz. And you know, I mean, God. I _hated_ Angel." He ran a hand through his hair. "So much it hurt." 

Dawn draped an arm over his shoulder, ignoring his avoidance of the true meaning of her question and ignoring the strangeness she always felt when he switched tenses in a way that was just second nature to him now.

"I know." Dawn whispered soothingly. "I get that it's rough. But you know you need to talk to him. Hell," she said raising a finger to his lips to quell whatever he was going to say. "I know you **want **to talk to him."

"I do." Connor agreed, snorting. "It's just really hard."

Dawn raised an eyebrow imperiously. "Connor, honey?" she started patronisingly. "You're the child of two vampires who was raised in a Hell dimension and then had his memories altered and now basically has the memories of two completely different people living in one body. And I'm a millennia old ball of energy whose sister is a vampire slayer." She quirked Connor's head towards hers with a hand under his chin, dropping a kiss onto his lips. "It was never, ever going to be easy."

*

Angel was already sitting in the deep black leather chairs when Connor burst through the door, pacing the length of the office with long purposeful strides. He span to face his father, who was looking slightly perturbed at his exuberant son.

"We need to talk." Connor stated, a finger pointed at the still sitting Angel.

Angel slowly put the file he was reading aside, as though it were a weapon that he were being told to put down for the good of his own life. "Okay," he drew out slowly. "about what?"

Connor threw his arms out in his trademark theatrical style. A style that was so very much rooted in the Jake part of him that in Angel's eyes it still looked foreign on his son. "Anything!" he yelled. "Ask me about my day." Connor ordered defiantly as he dropped in the chair opposite him, nervously tapping his foot on the polished floor.

Angel was now starting to look slightly worried. "Erm, how was your day?" 

Connor stilled his tapping to watch his father from suddenly puzzled eyes. "Okay. So I probably shouldn't have asked you to ask me that because my day was completely dull. But still? There must be something you want to ask me?" Angel's black face met the question. "Fine." huffed Connor, in a perfect impression of a petulant teenager, before he dropped back in the chair, arms crossed defensively in front of him. "Not like I'm your son or anything." he muttered, looking out of what he now knew were necro-tempered windows.

This final muttering seemed to penetrate Angel's fogged state. "Jake." Connor's head shot back to meet Angel's gaze, still finding it easy to respond to the name.

"Yeah?" said Connor dubiously.

Angel scrambled forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees in a gesture that Connor now recognised he must have inherited from his father. "When you muttered that sarcastic comment," Connor opened his mouth to explain, Jake's manners catching up to him, but Angel wove him off. "I sort of remembered you were Jake too."

Connor raised an eyebrow slowly. "And what? You'd forgotten that whole memory change thing? Because I certainly hadn't." Connor asked, a hint of resentment creeping into his voice.

"No!" Angel practically yelled, in the effort to explain himself. "I just realised I knew nothing about Jake."

Connor shrugged, a wry grin tempering his mouth. "And you know oodles of stuff about Connor?"

The same wry grin tugged at Angel's lips. "Humour me." Connor uncrossed his arms to regard Angel curiously. "Tell me about Jake?" he asked, shrugging one shoulder nervously.

Connor smiled. The first real smile he'd ever smiled in that room. "Where do you want to start?"

Returning the smile, Angel replied; "Beginnings are always good for starts, I hear."

"Well, my full name is Jake Michael McAvery…" Angel's eyes lit up at this and he interrupted Connor hurriedly.

"Irish?"

Connor looked surprised at the interruption but responded dutifully; "Yeah."

The smile Angel smiled then had been seen by very few people on very few occasions and as he leaned forward to engage his son in a shared conversation it didn't fade in the slightest.


End file.
